


A More Effective Drug

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She hated appearing as anything less than her best.  And yet here she was, a sniffly, wheezy mess, not just letting this man take care of her, but enjoying it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A More Effective Drug

Cradling her teacup, taking occasional sips of the steaming liquid, Nyota watched Leonard mince onions. He was turned away from her, but she could see the way his muscles moved beneath the dark gray fabric of his off-duty uniform, and she could see the fine crinkles at the corner of his eye, which meant that he was smiling.

"Do are berry dice ban," Nyota said. Then her nose began to twitch, and she set her teacup down quickly and grabbed a tissue from her pocket, in anticipation of a sneeze.

"And you're still very congested," Leonard observed without looking up. "Aren't those drugs I gave you working yet?"

Nyota sneezed into the tissue. "Do," she muttered.

"Well," he said, tipping the cutting board and scraping the onions into the pot of heated oil, "here's hoping this helps." Setting the knife and cutting board down, he picked up a wooden spoon and began to sauté the onion.

_It's already helping,_ she thought. Though they'd been staples of her childhood in Nairobi, _sukuma wiki_ and _ugali_ were not her favorite foods. Still, it was so sweet of him to prepare them for her.

"When I'm sick or injured, that's when I feel farthest from home," he'd said as he'd sat her down in the _Enterprise_ galley, tucking her blanket around her. "So I figured, a little home cooking…"

Watching him add batches of chopped kale to the pot and begin to sauté them as well, Nyota thought with amazement, _Someone let him go. Someone let him get _this_ far away from her._ Now would be a good time to tell him just what he meant to her, now, while they were both off-duty and alone together, with nothing more pressing than a pot of cooking cabbage and vegetables. She searched for the words. She knew that she had them; she was wonderful with words, she had the most extensive vocabulary on the _Enterprise._ But she couldn't find them. It was like there was a cloud around her brain, and only the thickest, dullest phrases worked their way through.

"You're dice," she said, and sneezed again. "Ugh."

Leonard added chopped tomatoes, chicken stock, salt, and pepper to the pot. When the mixture began to boil, he set the heat to low, set the timer for twenty minutes, then turned to look at her, his expression wry.

"Nice?" he said. "Don't let the rest of the crew hear you talkin' that way, honey. You'll ruin my reputation."

"Our secret," she promised. Something thick and cold and disgusting dripped onto the back of her tongue. She swallowed painfully and made a face. "Bleh."

Frowning, he crossed to where she was sitting, touched two fingertips to the glands on either side of her throat, and massaged them gently. "Hmm, still pretty swollen. I've got stronger medication, but it'll knock you flat. Maybe tonight, if the other stuff doesn't kick in…" Stroking the line of her jaw with one curled finger, he pressed his palm to her forehead. "No more fever, at least."

"Lobely ban."

"But still delirious. Interesting."

"Berry fuddy."

He ran his fingers through her hair, combing it away from her face and neck, while he bent to kiss her forehead. She knew that she looked awful: wan, pinched, and disheveled. She hadn't showered or even brushed her hair since catching this wretched cold. But she felt almost pretty when he touched her like that, and when he whispered against her skin, his lips warm and dry, "You're a medical phenomenon, honey. But I always knew you were special."

She'd always had trouble letting people in, especially men. She'd been raised to be competitive, preferred pursuing to being pursued. She hated appearing as anything less than her best. And yet here she was, a sniffly, wheezy mess, not just letting this man take care of her, but enjoying it.

Well. Enjoying it as much as her aching head, sore throat, and gunk-filled sinuses allowed.

Maybe that was how he'd gotten in, she thought as she reached for him. He was a doctor: at some point, he saw everyone at his or her worst. No, she decided, wrapping her arms around his middle and pulling him to her, wanting his warmth, the firmness of his body, that didn't make sense. If it were just his vocation that made her feel so safe and secure, she'd still be with her second boyfriend. There had to be something more.

Was it because, unlike most of the rest of the crew, she got to see him at his best? His secret best, the part of his nature that very rarely manifested itself when he was on-duty? No one could deny that he was a brilliant doctor, compassionate, brave. But this tenderness, this sweetness - _these_ things he kept tucked away inside himself, and only seemed to let them surface when _she_ let down her own guard.

_Our secret,_ she thought, holding him to her, and pressing her cheek against his heart.

2/12/10


End file.
